


Not My Ears, My Heart. Not My Lips, My Soul.

by aberdeenrose



Series: Not My Ears, My Heart. Not My Lips, My Soul. [1]
Category: British Royal Family, British Royalty RPF
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Domestic, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aberdeenrose/pseuds/aberdeenrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story set in alternate timeline where Charles and Camilla married the first go around. They have a bunch of kids together--and they struggle with anti-royals throughout. </p><p>Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Camilla stomped down the hallway, her short heels clacking against the tile of Clarence House. She stopped, listening for the echo of a piano ringing through the house. There was none now. He must have caught wind of her disappointment. The house’s help bustled about floors below, she leaned over the railing, blonde hair swirling around her face, a strand stuck to her lip stick covered mouth.

“Marley!” She wasn’t one for yelling much, but when there was so much noise, she didn’t mind using her outside voice indoors. A black haired girl with a round face stopped, confused where the extra noise was coming from. “Yoo-hoo!” Camilla’s voice turned soft and sing-song.

“Yes ma’am?” Marley halted in the middle of traffic, a table runner draped over her arm, a stark contrast of red satin and gold lining compared to her black and white uniform.

Camilla paused, thinking over the words she was about to say, and what tone she’d use to say them with.

“Um, where is _he_?” Marley’s relaxed facial expression turned in an instant, she looked like she’d been caught red-handed sneaking a cookie.

“Marley,” the motherly warning tone curved at the end. “He’s not in trouble, just—late.” She made sure the last bit was extra loud, should he be hiding in a room around her.

The young maid, who usually tended to Camilla when she cooked upon other duties, bit at her lip before pausing. “If one were to look where the sound comes from at Christmas, he shall be found.”

Camilla tapped her clear coated nails against the railing and dug her tongue into her cheek. Marley was great with riddles. And no matter how much he’d given her to keep Camilla off his tracks, she’d find him, Marley could tell the lady of the house was in no mood to be seriously challenged.

The door to the portrait room was open an inch, just far enough for her to wrap her fingers around to silently open the door. Only one light was on, illuminating the keys to the piano, as well as the eight-year-old barely pressing the tops of them, playing a song beautifully in his head without actually striking the hammer against the string.

She leaned against the door frame, folding her arms over her bosom. “Davey, you know you’re not supposed to be playing right now,” her voice was so soft, she wasn’t sure he’d heard it at first, but then he dropped his hands from the keyboard and clutched onto the bench he sat on, his feet barely grazing the ground.

He was still so small.

Camilla closed the door behind her and swept across the room. Born fifteen minutes after his older sister, Charlotte, David had been attached to his mother more so than the other children. She joined him on the piano bench, her arm pulling him close to him.

“I’m scared,” his voice was smaller than small. And that took some time to process what he’d said.

“Scared for what? You could play ‘O Holy Night in your sleep,” she laughed, “with your eyes closed!” Her voice boomed around the room, and yet, David kept his head buried in the crook of his mother’s arm. A trait he’d started when he was old enough to crawl. “Poppa and Granny are looking forward to it. Would you like to ring him?”

Out of all their children, David was the one most likely to curl up next to Camilla’s father-in-law in times of stress. Even though Charles never a solid relationship with his father, some reason David was simply drawn to the stern man, which contrasted David’s very sensitive nature.

David’s head shifted in her lap. “Yes, please.”

“Go on then, we’ve got to get you dressed straight after.” She ran her hand over his light blonde hair.

David shifted again, stretching up and pecking his mother on the cheek before skittering to the door. Charles’ figure appeared there, dodging the young boy as he bolted past.

“Walk please!” Camilla called after him. It was no use, he’d sprint all the across Buckingham Palace to speak one word with his grandfather. Charles greeted her with a smile, his tall figure sat down next to her. “You know, I never really picked up on the piano.” Her delicate fingers skimmed across the keys.

“You know he would have come out sooner or later.” A warm hand rested upon hers, together they pressed down a few keys. Soft, somewhat matching chords were played.

“Yes, but we’re going to be late. And the sooner he plays, the sooner he’ll be done freaking out.”

“Hmm, yes, I agree. But, I remember how terrifying performing for them was.”

Camilla slid her hand from under his and placed it upon her husband’s knee.

“You look,” his voice suddenly husky and deep, “edible tonight.”

The sky blue gown fell around her ankles and the lace over lay exposed most of her shoulders. Charles had always been one more attracted to subtle sexuality than outright nudeness. His hand caressed the one on his knee, before he turned to her, lifting her chin with his finger. She could smell his after shave, a sharp scent that reminded her of Highgrove in the fall hunting time.

He kissed her softly. “Those precious--,” another kiss, “tinted lips,” another kiss.

She moaned into his mouth, their tongues dancing together. When he reached around to bring her even closer, her back arched, tipping her head back. Charles took his opportunity, devouring the flesh of her jaw and down her neckline. Her skin was a light, burning against his lips.

Before his hand could slid any higher than her stomach, the door burst open. Charles jerked his head back, trying to cover what he’d been doing. But it didn’t matter.

“Mummy!” The light voice screeched through the whole house. “Mummy!”

Camilla straightened her dress, trying to gather herself. “What is it lovely?” Charlotte dramatically landed in her mother’s lap, a tiny pair of shoes clutched in her hand, a miniature purse swinging from her arm.

“I—can’t—get—my--shoes—on!” She wailed in between sobs.

Holding out her hands, Camilla lifted her youngest daughter onto her lap, careful not to get the two of them entangled in either’s dress. Charlotte, although eight going sixteen, wore a dress that suited her grandmother, the Queen, instead of a minor. Camilla swung the two of them around, motioning to Charles to slip the ornate shoes on.

“Now Princess, you can’t be crying anymore. All you have to do is ask for help,” Charles took the perfectly folded satin fabric from his tuxedo pocket and wiped away the bulbous tears that still stained his daughter’s face. “Here,” he whispered before sweeping her up into his arms, spinning her around the room to an unheard song.

Out of two daughters, Charlotte was the one all about glitz and glamour. Time after time she ended up on the magazine’s ‘What to buy’ list for children, beating out North West and the younger Jolie-Pitt children. Even at eight, she was able to tell her parents exactly what dress she wanted to wear to events, from Easter to Christmas, everything had to be perfect and everything had to be sparkly.

It was the only reason David begged his parents for his own room.

“Now, children, we’ve got to get going soon.” Camilla checked the time of her mobile before tucking it back into her clutch. Time seemed to tick by so fast with two eight-year-olds, especially two that had strikingly different personalities.

Camilla sighed. Life married to the heir to the British throne had changed her social life almost entirely, she tried to keep their private life as normal as possible. For the most part, she had succeeded. Their eldest boy, Phil, had married and his bride was expecting their first child. Albert and James had both moved to their separate little parts of a castle, the two had been closest of brothers. Rosalind was still in university, finishing her doctorate in writing, even though she could never really teach the children she longed to teach. And the twins were just a few years into primary school. The life between her and Charles had its ups and down, but mostly ups.

She shuddered, trying to forget the horrible downs they’d had.

Rosalind’s voice came from down the hall. The most laid back of the group, Rosalind was the first born girl, Charles’ pride and joy. Each had thought she would be the last of the Waleses. A country woman that took after her mother so much it was almost impossible, she poked her head around the door.

“Mum?” Her question was sharp in the muted bustle from the servants down below. The elbow length blonde locks swung around her shoulders. She was a dead-ringer for a young Camilla.

Camilla raised her hand from behind the piano.

“Dad said you need your tiara—and we need to leave, now.”

“Did Davey get dressed alright?”

The young girl nodded.

“Alright then, let’s go,” she closed the top over the keys and flipped the light off.


	2. Chapter Two

            It was late, nearly two in the morning, but Davey was still wide awake. After his solo performance, which he executed with perfection, a world renowned pianist pounded away on the keys with him all night, teaching him bits and pieces of harder, larger works.

            “If you ever needs tips, give me a call,” the pianist said, flourishing a business card with his personal number on it. “Anytime, Sir.”

            Davey, never one for all that royal name mumbo jumbo, gawked at the card. He’d been taught by a man who’d played for royal families all over the world and had been a part of numerous symphonies.

            “Thank you,” he whispered. The two parted, and Davey bolted right for his father, in the middle of a conversation about organic farming with the princess of Denmark. Her blonde hair was pinned and curled high enough, she’d grown a good INCH CONVERSION. “Dad!” Davey knew the wait until there was a break in the conversation before butting in, he’d just so happen to choose when his father took a breath of air.

            “Yes son?” Charles knelt down, his knees straining against the hard floor.

            Davey held out the card, a look of triumph on his little cherub face. It was held so close to his face, Charles had difficulty reading it properly. But once he focused in on it, he knew for sure that Davey wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks to come.

            “Good job son,” Charles beamed at his youngest, patting him on the back. Davey looked up at the princess, bowed his head and then ran off for more excitement.

            “So alive at this time of night,” the princess glanced up at the clock before stifling a yawn. “I could have gone to bed hours ago.”

            Charles laughed; he was right on the same page. But this was his father’s ninety-third birthday. As hard as it was to admit, there wouldn’t be many more of them. His parents had taken to the floor again, dancing in a more private way; their bodies were close enough to graze noses. A smile stretched across his mother’s face and he could see his father’s eye beaming with joy from across the room. These were the moments he cherished.

            “How are your children?” She sipped away at her red wine, swirling the glass.

            “Good, they’re all good. Excited for Philly and Zoe to have their little one, Charlotte couldn’t be happier, she’s ready for a baby to play with. But I don’t think she’s given it a second thought—“

            “How so?”

            “Well, from day one, she’s said it was going to be a girl. There’s never been a notion that it could be a boy,” Charles cackled. Charlotte was old enough that she knew the workings of babies, but she couldn’t shake the fact that she could have a nephew instead of a niece. But no matter how much she gawked over a little girl, Charles couldn’t bring himself to burst his little angel’s bubble.

            The princess tried to stifle a yawn again, this time she was fruitless.

            “I agree,” Charles was able to swallow his yawn, however it was ticking past reasonable hours. “I think it’s time to retire.”

            The two exchanged farewells and promises to keep in touch on baby news and parted. Charles finished off his scotch, handing off his glass and searched for his wife and children. They’d come with Rosey and the twins, and he expected to leave with three children as well. But Rosey had other ideas, he spotted her being twirled around the dance floor by the son of some lord, Charles knew the name and the face, but he was far too exhausted to place them together.

            He memorized the young man’s face and went off in search of his other companions.

            “Oh Chucky!” Ann grabbed at his upper arm, her grasp loose and weak. She tried keeping eye contact with him, but the alcohol had gotten to her. She giggled like she did when she was a young girl. “Where—Chucky—where are my little lovies?”

            “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” He couldn’t help but laugh at his only sister, he wrapped an arm around her waist. For so many years, she’d been in a dead-end marriage. After the divorce, the two had stayed friends, but now she was married to the one man she’d longed for her whole life, a man that Charles had doubts about until the ring was on Ann’s finger.

            “Charles, good to see you,” Andrew Parker Bowles’ grip was strong, the grip of a man with a full life in the military.

            “Andrew,” Charles nodded to him before glancing around the room again. “You haven’t seen the children have you?”

            Ann shook her head quite dramatically, her weight shifting in Charles’ one armed hold. Andrew looked around them before shrugging his shoulders.

            “Haven’t seen them all night actually. Well, saw Davey playing earlier, and then skittering off, that’s it though.” Charles laughed and turned to look some more. “I’ll hold on to them if I see them though.”

            Andrew adored Ann, the couple were a match in heaven. But neither had children. Charles and Camilla’s were as close as they’d get.

            People stopped him, giving him well wishes. One dignitary from France laughed at the sheer fact the twins had no full time nanny. The truth was, Charles and Camilla never really needed a full time one. Only when they traveled or for nights when children weren’t allowed to attend. Neither found anything wrong with taking care of their own children. They were spaced out enough that it was never a real hassle. Well, until the twins were born and Camilla insisted on breast feeding one last time.

            “I’ve got the milk, why not?” She’s argued. Most nights were spent wide awake, propping babies up.

            A soft, slow, song was struck up by the band and the couples flocked, even more so, to the dance floor. In the corner, nearest the door, was Camilla, swaying in place with little Charlotte wrapped in her arms, blonde curls flopped over her face.

            “There you are, Darling.” Charles placed a soft, uniterruptive peck on her other cheek.

His hand ran over Charlotte’s back, she was out for the night. “Here, let me.” He held out his hands, ready to take her.

            No matter what Camilla said, Charles knew Charlotte was getting heavy for her to carry for long amounts of time. Charlotte was getting heavy for him.

            Charlotte resituated in his arms and fell right back asleep.

            “I think we could go anytime now,” she sighed, “it’s been a long night.” Her hand rested on his shoulder, holding her up.

            “Agreed, all we need is Davey and Rosey.”

            Camilla swatted at his arm. “Just let her do her own thing. It’s not like they’re alone, beside, you don’t want to start a scene. At least she’s getting out.”

            There was a pang in Charles’ stomach.

            Rosalind was his first born girl. She was his little princess. A lover of nature and as interested in organic farming as he was, the girl held great power. Even though she continued on with her education, she still found time to promote being more environmentally friendly. Even Charles wasn’t sure how she did it.

            He watched her twirl around on the dance floor, the simple dress flourishing outward. Begrudgingly he decided to let her stay.

            But just this once.

           

 

            Once Davey had zipped past them, Andrew hauled the kid back, over his shoulder, both laughing heartily. He went without a fight, but Camilla and Charles knew he would be running around Clarence House as soon as they stepped inside.

            At a quarter to three in the morning, there were still paparazzi stalking around the gates of the palace. The four were hustled into the car and settled into place with flashes blinding them. Davey hid his face in the space between his mother’s arm and torso. His small hands fisted into her dress, the loose fabric wrapping around his hand.

            “It’s alright,” she cooed, patting his shoulders. “We’ll be home soon, and we can all sleep in tomorrow!”

            Charles laughed at her. They both knew what ‘sleeping in’ meant. By eight thirty, two small kids would be jumping on their bed, begging for sugary cereal and oversized glasses of orange juice, pulp-free.

            She rested her head against the back of the seat, her eyes fluttering, fighting off sleep.

            The car stopped in front of Clarence House before she even realized it. Both Davey and Charlotte were asleep now. The bodyguard hoisted Davey in his arms and carried him in. Both he and Charles headed up toward the children’s rooms and Camilla shuffled up the stairs before plopping down on the settee in their room.

            The tiara was stuck in her hair with a handful of pins. She set it off on her nightstand and slipped off her shoes. Swinging her legs up onto the reclined love seat, Camilla exhaled. She could fall asleep if she closed her eyes. The settee was just too comfortable, the dress was just too warm, her bright blue eyes closed and she was out.

 

            “Goodnight Davey,” Charles whispered before kissing him on the forehead. He patted the blankets one last time and went across the hall to Charlotte’s room. The blonde cherub looked like a china doll, she’d had his complexion and her mother’s looks, thin perky lips and insanely bright blue eyes. Charles stroked his finger over her warm cheek.

            She was the daughter who do wonders on the royal front, special engagements and galas would be her forte. Charlotte was the only one Charles would play tea party with, not even his younger siblings’ children could talk him into that. He kissed her forehead and pulled her oversized stuffed teddy bear closer to her chest. “Goodnight Charlie-girl.”

            Charles got off the tiny bed covered in pink and made his way to the door. But before he could make it out she called out to him.

            “Daddy?” He turned back toward her.

            “Yes Dear?”

            “Can we go to the country soon?”

            “Maybe, angel, maybe.” He blew her a kiss and closed the door behind him.

            It was a relief to strip off his tuxedo. He’d hang it up in the morning, but for now, he draped it over the back of the ottoman. In his boxers, Charles made his way over to the bed. But Camilla wasn’t in the bed.

            Passed out on the settee in the corner was Camilla, perfectly done blonde hair a mess, dress hugging every curve on her lush body.

            He stroked her cheek and whispered her name. Slowly she blinked open her eyes, a smile stretching across her face. “Let’s go to bed Darling,” he said and held out his hand.

            Camilla shifted out of the settee, stretching her neck, bones cracked and popped. Without taking her dress off, she crawled onto her side of the bed and curled into the fetal position, her breathing already slowing again. Charles watched her. The fabric sinking against her shapely curves.

            “Darling?” He whispered, sure that Camilla was not fully in a dream, yet.

            She grunted, semi-answering him.

            “You amaze me, just every day you give me a new reason to love you even more.”

            She grunted again, the fabric crinkling as she shifted in the bed. Sticking her hand out in the dark, she felt for his hip and flexed her fingers. A soft, gentle touch, she moved her finger tips over his flesh.

            “I—you,” she murmured. He took this as an ‘I love you.’

            “Here,” he said before shifting to the end of the bed where her feet were. “Let me relax you.”

            His voice was full of want and lust. He pulled back the fabric of her dress all the way back to her knees. His fingers rubbed over the length of her feet. Moans came from her, muffled against the feathers of the pillow.

            Usually such acts would tickle her feet, causing her to fall into a fit of giggles. But tonight she was too exhausted, but Charles was holding out. Hoping for her to turn around and beg him to take her. He wasn’t complaining that it had been a while, but it had been a while. And he loved that dress on her, he loved it more off of her.

            “Mmmmm,” she moaned again.

            “Yes?” Charles stopped, waiting for her to respond. She wiggled her petite foot around, motioning for him to start up again. Instead, he kissed her calf. Years of riding horse had made her legs chalk full of muscle.

            This time her moan was a little higher.

            His hands ran up her legs, the silky make-up of her stockings made his hands glide over her knees and up her thighs with ease. He reached the top of her stockings and started to shimmy them over her shapely hips. Once he slipped them off of her feet, he tossed them off to the side.

            The zipper to her dress was on the back and instead of continuing his slow torture, he jiggled the top clasp before carefully undoing the closure. The black lace bra seemed to dig into her flesh. The zipper went down to right above her ass. He went back up and undid the tricky clasps on her bra. When the straps sagged to the sides of her body, Camilla’s groan was almost climactic.

            “C’mon now,” he patted her bottom and she rolled onto her back. Coming slightly back to reality, she helped Charles shimmy the dress off. He made sure it was draped over the edge of the four poster bed neatly, as not to ruin it. Charles turned back to slip her bra off, but she was throwing it, with a strong arm, across the room. He groaned, even in the dark, he was able to see the curves of her body.

            She had only grown more beautiful with age. Her breasts were full and her stomach, maybe not as tight as it once had been, was still flat for her age.

            He kissed along her collar bones, his hands exploring the lengths of her arms and then down her sides. Her flesh was cool and still smelled like the lingering scent of her flowery perfume.

            He devoured her kissing and licking at her erect nipples. Hands kneaded her breasts and he shifted his body lower, over her stomach and then in between her legs. She had opted to wear no panties at all to the party, leaving her exposed fully to him. Charles licked and nibbled at her opening. Tiny little moans escaped her lips, closer and closer they came. Charles slid his index finger into her, trying to tantalize her.

            Her body pressed farther into the bed, moans growing louder, until she was silent.

            Charles stopped, shocked at the sudden silence and lack of movement. With his lips grazing her vulva, he listened, just to make sure she was still breathing.

            She was.

            Only now she was snoring, this time deep and heavy snores. Even that attracted him to her. He kissed her once more before shifting her under the blankets. His arms wrapped tight around body and he pulled her flush with his.

            Soon, he was snoring right alongside her.

 

            The sun, by some act of god, found its way through the curtains, the heavy curtains, and right onto her face. Warm or not, it damn near blinded Camilla as she woke out of her dream and grogginess from the party the night before. She wriggled farther under the blankets, leaving just enough space to look at the clock. 9:45 am.

            And it was silent in their room.

            She rolled over, expecting Charles to still be there. Instead, she crunched over a piece of paper.

                        _Darling,_

_Sleep in, I’ll keep the children occupied._

_Xoxo_

            Shocked at first read-through, Camilla folded the paper and curled up in the middle of the bed, tugging the blankets around her a little bit tighter. For fifteen minutes, she rested her eyes and relaxed, trying to fall back into her peaceful sleep.

            It didn’t work.

            She pulled back the sheets and slipped her feet into the fuzzy slippers that were on her side of the bed. And then she pulled on her floor length silk robe, tying the belt tight.

            The noise in the kitchen was almost catastrophic sounding. She almost turned around and went back to bed. Instead, against all her gut instincts, she pushed open the door to the kitchen. Charlotte and Davey were sitting at the island, mixing two bowls of something, what exactly, she wasn’t sure. But there was already a floury mess.

            “What do you think you’re doing?” She ran her hands through her hair, hairspray still keeping her hair frozen in place, sort of. “And where is your father?”

            “Good morning ma’am,” Marley’s voice came from the pantry. She came out, holding a bag of chocolate chips. “Sir wanted to surprise you with breakfast. He’s—uh—he’s” she looked at the twins, her eyes stern.

            “What are you hiding?” Camilla walked over to the island. “C’mon Charlotte, tell Mummy where Daddy is.”

            Charlotte shook her head, furious and tight-lipped.

            Davey followed suit.

            “It’s nothing bad,” Marley added. She put the bag of chocolate chips on the island, next to Davey. “Two handfuls for your bowl.”

            He reached into the bag and pulled out two small handfuls, dumping them into the batter.

            “Children what do you think?” Charles’ voice boomed down the hall before he walked through the door. He halted when he saw Camilla rifling through a bowl of fresh fruit. He tucked something oversized behind his back and tried to back up to the door.

            “Charles,” she drew out the ‘a’ in his name, “what’s that? Behind your back?” She waved a fork with a hunk of watermelon at him.

            “What’s what?” She’d never seen him look so red.

            “That!” She shoved the fork his direction again, causing the watermelon to skitter across the island and hit the floor. “Shit!” She let the word fly out of her mouth before she could stop it.

            The twins gawked at her.

            “Mummy said a bad word!” They chimed.

            “Charles, what is behind your back?” She stuck on each word, her voice harsh.

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family gets out of the city and escape to the privacy of Highgrove

Camilla was not one for surprises.   
“I wanted a nice little breakfast for you, and these,” he flourished the hidden thing from behind his back, a bouquet of freshly cut flowers.   
Camilla rolled her eyes, sighing at her husband. “You, darling, are incredibly—”  
“Loving? Caring? Affectionate?” He placed the flowers into the empty vase on the counter top.   
“One of those.” She stabbed another hunk of watermelon before chomping down on it.  
Charles walked over to her and kissed her on her neck, in the spot right below her ear lobe. Right where it made her shiver most.   
“’Morning lovie,” he whispered.   
He turned to walk away, but she caught his coat sleeve. He stopped, turned around and their eyes locked.   
“I love you Darling,” she craned her neck and pecked him on the lips when he leaned down. “Thank you.”  
But that had been drowned out by the twins fake retching at their parents’ affection toward each other.   
“I have another surprise.” Charles pulled out a frying pan and readied it for the pancakes. He ignored the eye rolling and sharp look from his wife. “After breakfast, we are going up to Highgrove.”  
That was something she could live with. Especially once she got food in her stomach. The family and Marley prepared the pancakes before devouring them in a fit of hunger. Marley got the twins together and the three packed for an overnight trip.   
Charles took his wife’s hand, in a gentle hold, and lead her up the stairs to their bedroom.   
“What happened last night?” She asked, a yawn stretching through her. All that she could remember was getting home and then nothing. Although she’d had a wicked naughty dream, she felt her cheeks grow hot.   
“Well, I got the kids in bed, teeth brushed, came back in here and you, my dear, were passed out--,” he pointed to the settee, “there. And then I got you stripped out of your dress, tried to woo you, and you snored your way through an orgasm.”  
Her cheeks were burnt crimson now.   
“Dear god, no I didn’t.” She swatted his upper arm before tugging at the closet door. The luggage had been laid out, but they were grown ups, they could pack for Highgrove.   
“No,” he looked serious as ever, “you did, you were so close to climaxing and then were suddenly so quiet, I’d thought you’d fainted. Nope, just asleep.”   
“Charles,” she whispered. Camilla closed the stretch between them, wrapping her arms tight around his neck, her breasts plastered against his chest. Through some act of miracle, he’d literally swept her off of her feet and swung her around in a circle. “You’re going to hurt your back, now put me down.” She swatted at his shoulder.   
“Next time I’ll make sure you’re awake the whole time.” Her feet touched the ground and he gave her a good and hard pat on her ass, causing her to squeal.   
“I’ll try to behave.” 

The house was completely empty. Since they hadn’t planned on arriving, there were no servants, only Marley to mind the children. The twins let the dogs loose, running after them. through the rooms and up the stairs they went, chasing after each other.   
Camilla inhaled the springy scent. No matter how close they were to home, there was something refreshing about Highgrove. This was their place to get away from everything and act like a normal family. The way she’d acted when she was a child, running about the house, sliding around in socks. Everyone was always noticeably calmer when they came here.   
She watched Charles from the window. He walked around the garden, checking flowers and their blossoms. He tapped the toe of his shoe lightly on the top of the pond. Camilla could tell from the window, it wasn’t fully unthawed, nor was it frozen enough to step on. She’d have to watch the kids closely around it. Phillip always told her children would be children, to which she replied, stone and cement against a child’s head could spell tragedy.   
Laughter and barking bounced around the house throughout the day. After lunch, Charles suggested sitting out in the garden, which Camilla loved. She grabbed the latest book she’d been reading and a light sweater.   
Both Charlotte and Davey pulled on their sweaters and shoes without a fuss. Before the door was even open, Davey tapped Charlotte on the shoulder and told her she was ‘it’ before taking off through the shrubbery. She wined for a second before tearing after him. Camilla was always surprised how fast she could turn from an extremely innocent little girl to a young woman who wouldn’t let anyone beat her at anything.   
The two lawn chairs were propped against the side of the house, Charles set them both out and stretched his legs before joining Camilla on them.   
“Remember when they were little?” With the book open to the correct page on her lap, Camilla knew she wouldn’t read any of it. Not when the suddenness of nostalgia had struck her.   
“They are little, Darling, they’re only eight.”  
“I know, but when they were two, or three, and they’d sit still and everything was so new to them.”   
Charles shifted in this seat, propping himself up on his elbow. “Are you alright?”   
“Yes,” she exhaled, “just—babies. I miss my little babies.” Charles reached his hand out to her and caressed her fingers.   
“They’re still your babies, Darling, all of them. And soon we’ll be grandparents, and there’ll be another baby around.” His eyes were soft, concerned. She knew there had been many times when she had felt this way and it was usually the start of a serious longing for another baby. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen again, not from her. She’d have to suck it up and deal with it. “Please don’t be sad Dearest.”  
He placed a light kiss on the knuckles of her hand.   
“That’s not fair!” Charlotte yelled at her brother. The shrubbery was blocking all but the very tops of their heads, but Camilla knew the game they’d been playing was now finished, especially since Charlotte had gotten the last word. She called out for Bluebell and Beth while Davey still ran around, arms out like an airplane.   
The two dogs sped past Camilla and Charles before darting around the corner.   
“Hi puppies!” Her voice was high, her ‘princess’ voice as she called it. But then there was a splash.   
Both parents sat upright in their chairs, listening. A lot of times the dogs would dive into the water without testing the temperature. There was more splashing and barking. Camilla jumped out of her chair, toppling over the thing. She rounded the shrubbery.   
Charlotte was in the pond, water up to her shoulders, she was drenched. By the time they reached her, she was sobbing and shaking against the frigid water. Camilla scooped her out of the water, cradling her in her arms.   
“Are you okay Sweetie?” She ducked her head against Charlotte’s and rocked her back and forth.   
Her sobs were so fierce she couldn’t choke out a single syllable; instead she reached her hand up and pointed at her head. Camilla shifted Charlotte so that Charles could inspect her head.   
His eyes grew wide.   
“Get her inside and have Marley get the first-aid kit,” he spoke clear and sternly to Camilla in a tone that she wasn’t used to him using. It took her so much by surprise that he said it again, slightly shaking her upper arm. “Charlotte, you’re going to be okay my tough little one,” he pinched her cheek and kissed her forehead.   
Camilla didn’t want to look down, but she knew she had to. No matter how strong she was, when it came to her children’s injuries, she folded. Inside she called for Marley to get the kit and a towel.   
She set Charlotte down on the countertop, bringing her arms up to her face, she saw the dark stain on her sleeve.   
“Oh Sweetie,” she pulled Charlotte to her chest, feeling over her long hair. There was blood dripping down her sopping wet hair. “Oh Sweetie, I’m sorry,” she rocked her back and forth, calming her little by little.   
“Here ma’am, would you like me to look at it? I’ve taken care classes.” Marley handed her the towel, which she wrapped around Charlotte.   
“Let’s sit down for this.” Camilla held fast to Charlotte and the two sat down the kitchen table. “It’ll be okay soon.”   
Charlotte rested her head upon her mother’s bosom and, even though she had almost completely calmed down, hiccupped.   
“This might hurt a little, you’ve got a lot of hair Miss.” Marley gently moved small strands of hair, trying to find the source of the blood. Even though she was blonde, Charlotte’s hair was so thick and unruly half of the time, it took some time to find it. Marley sat back on her heels.   
“What?” Camilla snapped, instantly apologetic for her tone.   
“It looks deep, but I’m not sure if she’ll need stiches or not,” Marley said as she reached for a handful of gauze.   
Charles and Davey came in the back door, both silent.   
“Well?” He asked.   
“Maybe stiches,” Marley repeated.   
“Should I call the doctor?” He moved toward the phone.   
Camilla locked eyes with Marley, knowing she was unable to hide her fear.   
“Hmmmm,” Marley turned so that she could see eye to eye with Charlotte. “What do you think Miss? Should we call the doctor?”  
Charlotte nodded.   
Camilla cradled her child, letting Charles deal with the phone call. She’d always been so cautious with all of their children around the pond; it was one of the more obvious dangers at Highgrove. But after four other children, all much more energetic and mischievous, she’d let her guard down a little too low it seemed.   
The rapid heartbeat of Charlotte nearly shook the young girl’s frame. The entirety of the house had fallen eerily silent. After Charles and Davey had come in, Davey had taken one good look at his twin before running from the room. Maybe it was the blood, Camilla thought, they were young enough to still be in that stage. God forbid the older ones would let a little blood stop them. Instead, Davey had run upstairs and grabbed Charlotte’s minky blanket, bringing it to her with a smile on his face.   
“It’ll be okay Charlie.” He handed her the gift of comfort and reached for her hand.   
Camilla could feel tears sting her eyes, out of sheer adoration for her children, as well as pain of being a mother.   
“The doctor will be here as soon as he can get here.” Charles hung up the phone and kneeled down in front of his wife and children. “How’s my strong little girl?” His hand stroked her cheek.   
The two parents locked eyes and Camilla felt a pang of guilt in her gut. 

 

The usually bright and energetic blue eyes were twinkle-less and worried. For one, Charles hadn’t seen this much worry on her face since her father passed away.   
She had been so strong, running her father’s house as the cancer overtook him. With the twins being just over one-year-old, Charles had made it his sole duty to keep the rest of the children and family at bay, letting Camilla and her siblings do their own thing. It’d been work, and he’d eventually lost to his wife, who insisted that the twins be there.   
Night after night, Camilla would feed the twins, with a little help, get them to bed, and then spend hours next to her dying father’s bed. Some nights, Charles would walk into the spare apartment and find both Camilla and Bruce curled up on the bed, hands folded together. Those were the nights that made him wonder what it would have been like to have had a father so loving and so close. Those were the nights he shut the door quietly and kept close watch over the twins.   
When the time had come to call the family, Bruce could hardly register Camilla next to him, let alone Annabel and Mark, and his many grandchildren. Out of everyone, Camilla had held strong. She, in her unwavering faith of her father, did not shed a tear until she was alone the day after the funeral, playing with Davey and Charlotte.   
Charles walked into the nursery, expecting to find two excited babies and a, briefly, emotionless wife. They were the two she’d turned to when her father had begun to go downhill. As soon as he’d passed, though, Camilla had locked her emotions up, not expressing much in the way of joy, sadness, or even anger. Something that Charles had urged her on. Instead, with the curtains opened and the twins awkwardly trying to move from crawling to running, Camilla sat in a heap between them, head in her hands shaking from the violent sobs.   
The image had scared Charles at first; having never seen her break down, but then it had broken his heart. Those beautiful locks in a mess around her hands that were cupping her face. Once she had noticed he was there, standing in the doorway shocked, she had tried to brush off the ‘silly actions’ as she’d immediately called it. But once Charles had laid his hand on her back, running it over her shoulder blades, she’d sunk into his arms and resumed her mourning. To him, it was an act of bravery. To her, he knew, it was an act of a coward.   
But now, now she was simply being a mother, a worrying and protective mother. Charles, in an act to calm his wife and best friend, slid his arm down the length of the seat, cupping the small of her back. His fingers patted her back, but he could see her gnawing on the side of her cheek, trying to hold back tears.   
“Darling, why don’t you get a fresh shirt on and I’ll wait with Charlotte until the doctor gets here?” He held out his arms, waiting to receive Charlotte. Instead Camilla looked at him with such an exhausted and worried look that he took both of them in his arms. “You’ll be alright, won’t you darling?”  
He’d meant to ask Camilla, who’d shrugged, but Charlotte chimed in along with her.   
“Yes Daddy.”   
“See, you’ll be fine,” he whispered, this time into Camilla’s ear. Charles situated Charlotte in his arms and walked along the wall of windows. “Does your head hurt at all?”   
Charlotte nodded, causing the damp towel to slip a little.   
“It’ll be alright,” he cooed to them, like he did when they’d fall while trying to walk.   
They’d been slow on learning how to walk, what with their premature births. The twins were the first grandchildren of the queen to be born in a hospital. All the others had been smooth pregnancies, as smooth as one could be with a home birth. But when the doctor had told Camilla she’d be on bed rest for four months and had only made it half of a month through before unstoppable contractions, both she and Charles knew the twins would need monitoring that wouldn’t be available at Clarence House.   
They’d made the trudge to the hospital four in the morning. With a groggy Camilla and her stomach the size of two beach balls, Charles still found it in him to be the doting father.   
He’d loved it when she was pregnant, always glowing and just happy. She was a pregnant woman unlike the others he’d been around, his sister-in-laws and now his daughter-in-law. None of them were as happy to be pregnant as Camilla was. There was something in the way that she just let go and lived when she was pregnant. 

 

The doctor arrived shortly after and cleaned up Charlotte’s head, putting only three stiches. Camilla had come down, more calm but puffy eyed, and held her as the doctor closed her up.   
“Don’t get her stiches wet and maybe try and make sure she sleeps on her side or stomach for a while, that might hurt,” he’d told them wrapping gauze around her head to keep the bandage in place.   
Charles thanked him on the way out the door.   
“Will her highness be alright? She looked more shaken than the child.” The elder man’s smile sent wrinkles shooting over his face.   
“Yes, she’ll be alright, just a little scare is all. We’d just been talking about that pond earlier today.”   
“Ah, I see, well, tell her, kids will be kids. And heaven knows I’ve had plenty of the family being stitched up or casts made under my eye.” They shook hands and the doctor took off down the driveway.   
Back in the kitchen, Camilla was popping a few pieces of wheat bread into the chrome toaster. She’d set a jar of her homemade strawberry jam on the counter along with a jug of grape juice. Her blonde hair was bouncing around her shoulders with each light step she took. Sure, the years had given her laugh lines, but with six children and Charles as a husband, that was to be expected.   
“Darling, I think it’s almost time for a nap, don’t you?” Charles slathered his toast up with an extra serving of jam before crunching into it. She glanced up at him, then to Charlotte, and back at him, but once he caught her eye for a few seconds, he cocked his eyebrow.   
“I—I—uh,” she sputtered out.   
Both of the children looked exhausted, and Davey was nearly asleep at the table. 

 


End file.
